


Sweetheart Valentine Deluxe Package

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, And Happy Ending, Entirely Consensual Sex, Fluff and Angst, M/M, if that helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Matt goes to law school, engages in some very lucrative 'work-study', and meets a strange man who likes to give Matt granola bars.</p><p>That's not a euphemism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetheart Valentine Deluxe Package

“Oh, hi! You’re early. Come in. Should I take your coat? I mean like to hang it up, obviously, not to steal it. Or you could hang it up instead, that’s cool too. Either one’s cool, everything’s cool. It’s cool outside too, did you know? What a coincidence. But you know that, duh, because you have a coat. I have a coat too, although it’s not as nice as yours, and—“

 

“First time?” Matt cuts in casually, and the man exhales shakily. His heartbeat’s racing.

 

“Yeah. How’d you know?” Matt very carefully does not laugh, and instead keeps his smile warm and friendly.

 

“Lucky guess.” He says sweetly. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you relaxed in no time.” He adds the proper amount of a purr to his voice. To Matt’s surprise though, the man doesn’t immediately reply with some sort of horrendously cheesy innuendo.

 

“Thanks.” He sighs instead, and he sounds genuinely relieved. “So, coat? Oh, that sounded pushy, sorry. You can totally keep your coat on if you want. I just wanted you to be comfortable.” Matt widens his smile.

 

“Such a gentleman.” He says, a little coy, and goes to slip off his coat. Slow, smooth roll of the shoulders, all in one graceful movement. He can’t quite tell if it has the desired effect, because the man’s heartbeat has been racing since Matt walked in the door. Nervous, but Matt can’t tell anything else. Usually there are other cues, mostly verbal ones when it comes to this sort of thing, but all Matt can get from him is that he's nervous. “So, what do I get to call you?”

 

 “Oh, I’m Foggy.” The man says quickly, taking Matt’s coat and hanging it up. “It’s great to meet you.”

 

“Foggy.” Matt repeats dutifully, drawing out the name. “That’s an interesting choice. Not the sort that most people pick for this sort of thing.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose you probably get a lot of Johns.” Foggy agrees, and then chokes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I meant Johns like the name, not like… oh, god.”

 

Matt laughs, and he forgets to make it a coquettish giggle. Actually, he thinks he might snort a little, which probably undid all the progress the coat-striptease did. H

 

“It’s fine.” He assures Foggy. “I actually do get a lot of Johns. Foggy’s a new one, though. Refreshing.” He gets himself back on track and drawls the word in a low voice. Foggy laughs, moving further into the motel room. Matt trails after him.

 

“Most people tell me it’s weird, but I like refreshing better.” He agrees, and Matt pauses, blinking.

 

“Foggy’s your _real name?”_ No one uses real names for this sort of thing—they’re too paranoid and embarrassed. And Matt had been pretty damn sure that ‘Foggy’ could not be _anyone’s_ real name.

 

“Uh-huh. Well, Franklin is, but everyone calls me Foggy.” The man says brightly, like it’s totally normal to be handing out your name to escorts you’ve never met before. At least he didn’t say his last name—that would be inexcusably naïve. “Foggy Nelson.”

 

Well. Alright then.

 

“Lovely to meet you, _Foggy.”_ Matt murmurs breathily. “I’m Matt.”

 

…The hell?

 

Matt stares into space for a moment, horrified. He hadn’t meant to say that. He’d meant to say something plain but still believable, to give Foggy the illusion of familiarity. Steve, or Tony, or maybe Bruce. Not _Matt._ Apparently Foggy’s honesty is contagious.

 

“Matt. Awesome—you look like a Matt. Not a Matthew though.” Foggy says, sounding thoughtful. “Definitely a Matt.”

 

“Thank you.” Matt tells him warmly, although he’s honestly not sure if that’s a compliment or not. Foggy seems to mean it in a nice way, although Matt has no idea what his logic is. “So, Foggy. What are we planning on doing tonight?”

 

Foggy has paid for an hour, which isn’t that much time at all. Matt can probably keep him flirting and eager for maybe one half, and then he can play shy and timid for the other one. Foggy hasn’t sprung for the ‘deluxe package’, so Matt won't have to do more than a little bit of coy kissing.

 

Easy money.

 

“Talking, if that’s okay.” Foggy asks nervously, and Matt makes sure not to roll his eyes. ‘Talking’. Like he hasn’t heard that one before. He gives Foggy ten minutes before he makes a move. “Oh, do you want a cookie?”

 

...Is that a euphemism?

 

“Cookie?” He repeats, bemused, and Foggy makes an excited sound.

 

“Yeah, I made chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin. I was going to make gingersnaps too, but I didn’t have the time.” He says cheerfully. “You interested?”

 

Matt tries not to give away that he is now 90% sure that Foggy is 100% insane. Instead he pastes a vaguely apologetic smile on his face.

 

“I’m sorry, I ate before I got here. It’s such a sweet gesture though, thank you.” There, simple and clean. Unfortunately, Matt’s stomach chooses that moment to growl rather loudly. He really should have grabbed dinner before coming. Damn it. He smiles sheepishly. “Actually, I’m not supposed to eat any food or drink that one of my _friends_ has prepared. I might react badly to one of the ingredients. Allergies, you know.” Foggy hums in agreement.

 

“Gotcha. Roofies, right?” He translates bluntly, and Matt winces.

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you…” He starts carefully, and Foggy holds up his hands, flaring orange-red in Matt’s senses. It looks like he’s surrendering—Matt’s seen the gesture a lot before during his _other_ nocturnal activities, so he knows.

 

“Hey, no. I totally get it. You’re smart.” Foggy assures him, and he sounds like he means it. He doesn’t sound angry at all. “I’m sorry though, that you’re stuck being hungry. That sucks. I don’t think they have room service here—it’s kind of a crummy place, no lie.”

 

Matt tilts his head. Foggy sounds genuinely regretful, and it’s an interesting reaction. Most people would get offended, or else shrug it off when he said no and moved on. They would _not_ be guilty about not ordering him room service.

 

Of course, Matt sort of _is_ the room service.

 

“No, it’s okay.” Matt says slowly, and after a moment of puzzling over it he lets his smile widen again. “I don’t mind working up an appetite.”

 

“I won’t eat the cookies either.” Foggy vows earnestly. “So it’s fair.”

 

“Okay…” Matt mutters. It seems like all of his carefully crafted lines are going completely over Foggy’s head. “Anything you wanted tonight other than cookies? Anything else _sweet_?” There, no one could possibly say something like that without it being code for sex. Foggy has to understand that one. It's practically hitting him over the head with it.

 

“Sorry, I only have the cookies.” Foggy tells him apologetically. “It looks like you’re stuck with just the talking.” Lovely. Less room to distract the man. At least he seems considerate, so kissing him probably won’t be horrible.

 

“Talking can be sweet.” He puts a little emphasis on the word ‘talking’, letting Foggy know that he’s onto the game. He is onto it, and Foggy can stop pretending to be oblivious now. Honestly, Matt's running out of carefully crafted lines. Foggy laughs.

 

“Yeah, not so much. I’m afraid it’s going to be really boring for you, probably. I apologize in advance.” Matt hides a grimace. Well, that’s a ringing endorsement. Luckily he’s got practice in this sort of thing. He meanders over to the bed, playing up the blindness in order to run a deliberate hand over the covers before sitting down. He pats the space next to him invitingly.

 

“I’m sure it will be wonderful.” He assures Foggy kindly. “What do you want to talk about, then?” Foggy takes a deep breath and Matt hears him come closer. A moment later he settles on the bed, the unexpectedly well-made mattress hardly creaking. Matt notes with a hint of surprise that Foggy’s sitting a respectful distance from him, not getting in Matt’s space at all. Strange.

 

Matt readies himself for something awful, like ‘Let’s talk about exactly how much bang I can get for my buck’.

 

“Okay.” Foggy takes another deep breath. “I think I want to be a defense attorney instead of a prosecutor.” He blurts it out like it’s some sort of terrible secret. Matt blinks at him.

 

He’s pretty sure that one’s _not_ a euphemism, or else Foggy’s a much more creative flirt than Matt gave him credit for.

 

“You’re in law school, then?” He hears Foggy’s hair—longish judging by the way Matt can hear it brush against his shoulders when he nods, and scented with a cheap but inoffensively sweet shampoo.

 

“Last year.” He agrees glumly. “Pretty much everyone in my family’s either a prosecutor or a cop, and I’ve spent more than one Christmas dinner hearing all about how much they hate defense attorneys. They were so happy when I got into law school, so proud, but they just sort of assumed I’d be a prosecutor. And I sort of assumed it too, so I’ve been taking all the right classes for the past two years, only now I know that they’re _not_ the right classes.” He pauses, sighing miserably.

 

Law school. Matt takes a moment to gather his composure. He knows all about law school and the myriad of pressures involved, because Matt’s _also_ in his last year of law school. Unfortunately it’s not cheap. When someone had recommended his current… _work-study,_ Matt had been skeptical, but after a semester or two of sleeping on cheap, sandpaper rough sheets, he’d finally given it a try.

 

Matt sleeps on silk now.

 

“So you’re worried that if you tell them you’d like to go into defense instead, they’ll be angry?” Matt prods gently. It appears that Foggy might actually want to talk instead of ‘ _talk’,_ and Matt’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he’s a little curious. Foggy groans.

 

“They’d _never_ forgive me.” He tells Matt wretchedly. “My dad and my uncle haven’t talked in _twenty_ years because Uncle Roger went into defense.” That’s actually fairly impressive. Matt had been planning to say something soothing about how sure he is that Foggy’s family would accept him no matter what, something maudlin and bland, but—twenty years. It's hard to argue with that evidence.

 

“But could you forgive yourself, if you didn’t follow your heart?” Oh, stupid. Trite, using the follow-your-heart line. Foggy doesn’t seem to notice, sighing again.

 

“No, I couldn’t. I hate the thought of being a prosecutor. I mean, every one I’ve ever met has been amazing, but… but I want to help _people_ , you know? Individuals, the ones with thoughts and feelings and stories. I want to… I want to go to work every day and know that I’m making things better. It’s stupid, I know. Completely corny.”

 

“It’s not corny.” Matt says before he can help himself. It’s the way he feels every day. Everything he does is to help people, make things better. If Foggy feels the same way, Matt admires him for it.  “It’s very noble, and it sounds like you’re sure of your choice. Are you?” He urges softly. Foggy nods, the movement punctuated by a whisper of hair and another whiff of sweet shampoo.

 

“I know I’m going to do it.” Foggy admits. “And I know I’m going to have to tell them, but I’m terrified. I guess…” He swallows. “I guess I just need to talk it out first, tell someone how I'm feeling. Practice.” Matt nods understandingly, keeping his face solemn yet supportive. It’s actually not that hard. It sounds like Foggy is in a rough situation, and if Matt can help him with that without kissing him, then he almost has a duty to. Matt can sympathize with a person in a rough situation.

 

"Alright, let's practice." Matt encourages. "Pretend I'm someone you care about, someone you love, and convince me that this is what you want."

 

Odd phrasing, Matt thinks a moment later. He supposes he's still in his escort mode, just a little. Pretending to be someone he's not is something that Matt is used to, and the people he's with tell him what they want and how he should act. That makes this...almost the same thing. Maybe. He's just not really used to it in this context, someone talking about desires that are deeper than 'I _want_ to see a little more skin.' He's not really used to being the 'loved one'. 

 

It's always nice to try something new.

 

"Okay. Okay. Here goes." Foggy says, clearing his throat. "I just want to start this off by saying that I love you. That's the most important part. I love you so much, and that's always going to be true whatever happens next. But I'm hoping that you'll listen..."

 

Foggy is very, very convincing. He also peppers the whole speech with frequent assurances that 'I love you', and that certainly helps his case. Certainly it's a bit strange for  _Matt_ to hear from a total stranger, but he can imagine that if someone loved Foggy, they'd be happy to hear it. Foggy always says it so earnestly, a sort of depth in his voice that makes it clear he doesn't love casually. To anyone who he actually loved, the person he's pretending Matt is right now, it must pull on the heartstrings in a way that little else can. So, it's fairly effective.

 

"...And this is really what I want. And I love you." Foggy finishes grandly. He hesitates. "How was it?" It was more than slightly phenomenal, honestly.

 

“You did very well.” Matt compliments. “If you tell your family what you just told me, I think they’ll understand. It might take them awhile, but they’ll get there eventually. They love you, right?" They must. If Foggy's family is anything like Foggy, they're probably saying 'I love you' every other sentence. Foggy sighs.

 

“Yeah. They do.” He says, voice growing a little stronger and more confident. “And no offense to Uncle Roger, but I’m a _much_ better attorney than he is. I can make a good case.” He breathes out deeply. “I can _do_ this.” He repeats to himself encouragingly.

 

“You can.” Matt agrees, and it’s not difficult to smile at him. Foggy laughs, sounding surprised and joyful.

 

“Thank you so much!” He exclaims, still with the same giddiness that colored his laugh. Matt hasn't heard this sort of tone outside of children getting Christmas presents and besotted people on dates. “You’re _amazing,_ Matt.”

 

He says it so happily, with such a sense of grateful, innocent awe. Matt feels a bit uncomfortable. He shifts a little and clears his throat.

 

“Happy to help.” He says wanly. He doesn’t feel so well suddenly, too warm and short of breath. He wonders if he’s coming down with something. Foggy laughs again and jumps to his feet. Matt watches as he spins in a circle, body turning into a bright twister of flame in Matt’s mind.

 

“Amazing.” Foggy says again. “Fantastically, wonderfully, incredibly amazing!” Matt feels a little warmer. Yes, definitely coming down with something, obvious fever. He reminds himself to take a cold shower when he gets home to cool himself down. “I swear, you are an angel in disguise. The most amazing angel to ever exist.” A long cold shower. High fever.

 

“Thank you.” He demurs. “But I really didn’t do anything.”

 

“No.” Foggy argues, and Matt hears the soft scuff of his shoes on the carpet when he stops spinning to face Matt. “You did everything, because you are the most amazing angel to ever exist.” Matt swallows. Foggy sounds so _happy._

 

“I…” Matt begins, and then he hears the soft buzz of the alarm on his phone, tucked into his coat at the door. It’s quiet enough that Foggy can’t hear it, but it sounds like a blaring siren in Matt’s ears.

 

This is a job. Foggy didn’t even pick Matt—the company had told him that Foggy hadn’t specified. Well, that makes sense. Foggy wasn’t looking for a pretty face, he was looking for a good listener. He would have said this to anyone, and he would have thought anyone was the most amazing angel to ever exist.

 

This is business, not pleasure. This is one hour that Foggy paid for, and now it’s over.

 

“I wonder if you could check the time.” Matt says, instead of whatever the hell his ‘I’ was going to be before, when he was clearly delirious with fever. Foggy hums, and Matt hears him shifting—towards the nightstand, alarm clock.

 

“Oh, wow, one hour on the dot.” Foggy tells him, sounding impressed. “Sorry. I guess you’re pretty eager to get out of here.”

 

“Not at all.” Matt denies, but he’s already standing. “This was wonderful. We should do it again sometime.” _Not ever,_ Matt thinks to himself. Foggy’s obviously given Matt something. He’s made Matt sick. Fever.

 

“Absolutely.” Foggy agrees, and he helps Matt into his coat as though he actually likes Matt and wants to treat him well. “Thank you again, Matt.” He opens the door and Matt thinks with horror that Foggy’s actually going to walk him down to the parking lot like this is a date instead of a business transaction. A date between two besotted people where they sound giddy and awed just to be there.

 

“No, you stay here and get some rest. Maybe call your family.” Matt urges, already slipping past him and making his way down the hallway, trying not to run. Foggy hums agreeably.

 

“Yeah, good idea.” He answers, and Matt thinks he’s escaped relatively unscathed until Foggy calls out, “Goodnight, Matt. Sweet dreams.” And he sounds so stupidly happy and heartfelt that it makes Matt feel even sicker. He waves over his shoulder and gets the hell out of there.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Matt’s knocking on the same stupid door at the same stupid motel, and the same stupid Foggy is opening it.

 

“It worked! You are a genius.” He tells Matt, joyful. “I know you said you can’t eat anything I make, but I needed to get you something so I got you a granola bar basket! I got chocolate ship and oatmeal raisin to make up for the cookies, and I went ritzy so you also get honey nut and trail mix.” When Matt gapes at him, Foggy adds eagerly, “You can put them in your pocket, so that way you can eat on the go and not get stuck being hungry again!”

 

Matt takes the basket. The wrappers of the granola bars crinkle a little as he holds it. Sealed, no chance of tampering, no chance of ‘allergies’. Something to eat on the go, because Foggy doesn’t want Matt to be hungry again. Matt closes his eyes and swallows, sick.

 

Still sick. Worse. _Fever._

 

* * *

 

Foggy calls again. And again. And again. He always asks for Matt.

 

And Matt thinks it’s okay. It’s actually quite a nice setup, because Foggy pays for his hour and then spends all of it talking, never even showing a hint of interest in anything more. Matt gets to relax after a long day, just sit back and listen to funny stories and awful jokes and frequent compliments on how smart and wonderful he is.

 

Matt talks back, of course. Matt smiles and laughs and tells Foggy about the books Matt’s read that week. It would be rude not to. Foggy’s paying, and apparently he wants a conversational partner rather than a sexual one. Matt’s just giving him his money’s worth. He's good at being charming because he has to be in this business, but Foggy's easier than most people to charm. Matt mentions anything he finds interesting, anything at all, and Foggy can spend half of their hour chatting with Matt about it like an expert. It's so easy to charm Foggy. So easy.  


 

Matt doesn’t realize that something is horribly, horribly wrong until he walks into the motel room and Foggy hugs him.

 

Matt stiffens immediately. This is the most contact he’s ever had with Foggy, and he’s not sure what to do with it. He suddenly doesn’t know where to put his arms or his hips or his head, and it's like hugging has become some sort of strange tribal dance ritual that he doesn't know the steps to. He doesn’t know if he should hug back, or shrug out of the hug with a polite smile and get Foggy back on track.

 

He wonders if Foggy has finally realized what Matt does and what Foggy can ask for. He wonders if the hug is just the beginning, and Matt’s not sure what he’ll do if Foggy tells him that he’s paid extra, that he's paid for the deluxe package.

 

“Come on, Matt.” Foggy murmurs, and he starts pulling Matt towards the bed. Matt shudders and lets himself be pulled.

 

Not the deluxe package, please not the deluxe package. Matt’s tired and he feels sick and he can’t do this, not now, not with _Foggy_ , not like this—

 

“Here.” A thick blanket is dropped over his shoulders, and Foggy tucks it more firmly around him. “You’re freezing. I think your lips might actually be turning blue.”

 

Matt clutches at the blanket and he realizes that Foggy’s right. He’s shivering and his teeth are chattering and his fingers sting from being out in the cold for so long.

 

“Sorry.” He whispers, and Foggy ruffles his hair and settles in next to him on the bed, still that respectful distance away even after the hug.

 

“It’s okay. Well, if you’re okay, it’ll be okay.” Foggy hesitates. “But I don’t think you’re okay, Matt.” He says quietly. Matt swallows, pulling the blanket tighter around him.

 

“No, I’m fine, I just—it was colder than I thought, on the way over. I should have brought a scarf or something.” Foggy sighs.

 

“It’s not just the cold.” He explains softly. “You’re white as a ghost. Your hair’s a mess, and it doesn’t look like you’ve slept right in days. You're kind of a mess right now." Matt feels oddly embarrassed by this assessment. It's impossibly easy to charm Foggy, but that's when Matt's looking his best. He doesn't usually look like a mess when he's on the job, and he doesn't...he doesn't want Foggy to be the one to see that. 

 

“I’m fine.” Matt whispers again, like if he says it enough Foggy will believe him.

 

“No, Matt, you’re not.” Foggy replies bluntly. “Actually, it looks kind of like—“ He yelps and leaps to his feet, but a moment later he’s back, pushing something into Matt’s hands. Matt doesn’t understand what Foggy’s so freaked out about, and why is he giving Matt a trashcan, that doesn’t make any sense—

 

Matt spends the next five minutes vomiting into the trashcan. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers when he finally do more than dry-heave. This is awful, this is probably the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him, and Foggy’s paying for an hour of _conversation,_ not for an hour of someone being sick in his motel room.

 

He jumps when he feels a hand rub down his back, but it doesn’t linger or go too low. It’s soft and kind, and Foggy does it again and again until Matt feels another wave of nausea, and then he does it all through that too.

 

It’s horrible, and Matt’s not sure how long it lasts, but eventually there’s nothing left in his stomach and Foggy’s pressing him back to lie down on his side and getting up again. Matt shivers, miserable, until Foggy comes back. He feels another blanket land on top of the one he’s already under, and then something cold and wet being placed on the back of his neck—towel, a damp towel.

 

“Do you think you can drink a little water?” Foggy asks quietly. “You don’t have to swallow, but maybe rinse a little and then you can spit it out. You do not _want_ that taste stuck in your mouth, trust me.”

 

Matt doesn’t need to trust him. He’s got enhanced senses—he knows exactly how much he doesn’t want that taste stuck in his mouth, possibly more than anyone else on the planet does.

 

“It’s bottled, don’t worry. I know you can’t drink anything I make.” Foggy assures him, obviously mistaking Matt’s silence for refusal. “But the cap should snap when you twist it open, so you’ll know it’s okay. Right?”

 

Matt swallows hard and nods, sitting up just a little to take a sip. Foggy’s right, the cap does snap when he twists it open. Even if it hadn’t though, even if it had been a glass of tap water, Matt still probably would have drunk it. He’s desperate, and he thinks there is probably no one less likely on earth to poison him than Foggy.

 

He sits there, squeezing the plastic bottle in his hands and wallowing, until Foggy takes the water gently and pushes him back down onto his side again. Matt goes meekly, curling up into a ball and burrowing as tightly as he can under the blankets.

 

“Oh, Matt.” Foggy sighs softly, and it’s thick with sympathy and worry. “What are you doing here? You should be back home, sleeping and eating chicken soup.”

 

And Matt doesn’t know. He was planning on crawling into bed and huddling under the covers until he shivered his way to sleep, but then he’d gotten the call that Foggy was asking for him and he’d just—he hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just left the dorm and starting walking. He hadn’t even remembered to bring his coat. He’d just needed—

 

“I don’t know.” He replies, and Foggy hums like this makes total sense and goes to rewet the towel. When he comes back and sits next to Matt on the bed, and Matt feels the towel cold and soothing on his neck, he can’t help but ask hoarsely, “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“What?” Foggy asks, sounding confused. “I’m sorry, do you want me to go? I’m not sure—I don’t think you should be alone right now. But if you wanted to call someone else, that’s okay…” He trails off, unsure. Matt shakes his head, wincing when it makes him dizzy.

 

“No. Why are you _here?_ With me? Why did you come the first time? You must have friends. Why not talk to them instead?”

 

Foggy must have hundreds of friends. He’s so warm and friendly that it’s hard to imagine anyone not liking him. And yet here he is on a cold Saturday night, when he should be cuddled up at home with a friend or a girlfriend or a boyfriend or _something_. Instead he’s here, _paying_ to rub Matt’s back and give him bottled water after Matt ruins his trashcan.

 

Foggy’s quiet for a second.

 

“That first time… you’re right, I have friends, but I’ve either known them forever or I met them in law school. My childhood friends, they’re great, but we all pretty much grew up together. If they’d known about my career plans, they’d have told my family pretty much right away, because they’re my family too. And my law school friends—they’re nice, but we actually don’t have much in common, and they’re all so _sure_ of themselves. I don’t think they’d understand, even if they had the time to listen.” He sighs. “So I called and asked for someone to listen. And you came, and you were—you were amazing, Matt. After I talked to you, I went straight over to my parents’ house and I told them the truth. And they were mad—wow, they were mad—but I stayed strong and eventually they… they don’t understand, but they accept it.”

 

“You called again.” Matt points out, rasping. “You asked for me.”

 

“Well, yeah.” Foggy sounds surprised, like this was the logical thing to do. “I needed to say thank you.” Granola bar basket. Matt had carried them in his bag and eaten them on the way to class, then later too, on his way to everywhere else. He’d gotten more after he ran out, but they hadn’t tasted the same.

 

“You called _again.”_ Matt points out softly, and Foggy gives a sheepish little laugh.

 

“Yeah, I, uh.” He clears his throat. “I liked talking to you.”

 

Talking. That’s right, Foggy likes talking, not ‘talking’. And Matt knows what he’s supposed to say, when a customer says he likes ‘talking’. It’s the same with talking, right?

 

“I like talking to you too.”

 

It’s only after Foggy’s wrapped his own scarf around Matt’s neck and slipped his gloves on Matt’s hands, led him to the door and made Matt promise to take a cab and eat lots of ice cream and chicken soup when he gets home, that Matt realizes. ‘I like talking to you’.

 

It’s not a lie.

 

* * *

 

Foggy calls Matt again.

 

“Hey, you look much better.” He enthuses. “I’m so glad.”

 

Matt smiles at the genuine relief in Foggy’s voice.

 

“I feel much better.” He agrees, low and sweet. “And I’m glad you called. I’d like a chance to make it up to you.”

 

To tell the truth, he’s not quite as averse to the idea as he was at the beginning. Foggy, Matt thinks, would be a thoughtful kisser. He’d be a little eager, but also sweet. He’d keep his hands where they were supposed to be, unless Matt pulled them lower, and even after he’d be kind, asking before doing anything, making sure it was okay. It would be… okay, to kiss Foggy. Interesting. He hasn't paid for the deluxe package, but that doesn't mean Matt can't offer a sampler. 

 

“Oh, awesome. How do you feel about being the opposing counsel in a stimulating debate?”

 

...Is _that_ a euphemism?

 

No, probably not. Matt barely contains a sigh. Of course. Talking, not ‘talking’.

 

“I think it sounds fun.” He assures Foggy, and it’s actually not entirely untrue. Matt’s the best debater in his class, and he’s got a big one coming up. It’s part of the final exam, the teachers pitting the students against each other to see who’s got the most killer instinct. Matt’s pretty sure that no one’s got quite the same bloodthirst as he does, in or out of court, but it’s always nice to practice.

 

“You are the most amazing angel to ever exist.” Foggy tells him happily. He says it a lot, ever since the first night. It’s almost like a nickname to him, like ‘Matty’ is to other people. It still makes Matt smile, because Foggy actually sounds like he means it, like it’s as obvious a choice as ‘Matty’ is. Like it fits.

 

“So you’ve said.” Matt replies indulgently, moving over to sit on the bed. He doesn’t even bother being coy about this part, because Foggy’s always ridiculously noble about the whole thing and never even tries to make a move. Matt settles in cross-legged against the headboard, and he feels the bed dip a moment later as Foggy settles on the end.

 

It’s comfortable, relaxed. If Matt couldn’t smell the seedy carpets and old wallpaper glue of the motel room, he might be able to pretend that this was just two friends, sitting on their beds and chatting. He knows better.

 

He pretends anyway.

 

“Okay, it’s on Monday. I think I’ve got it down, but I need to make sure there are no holes at all. I can’t even stutter. Professor Mason is a gorgon, I swear. She’s trying to kill us, she’s got all these rules…”

 

Foggy’s still talking, but Matt’s not listening. In fact, he’s staring into space in horror.

 

Mason. Professor Mason. The same Professor Mason who talked to Matt yesterday about the topic of Matt’s debate. The mock debate that Matt has on Monday.

 

“What class is this for?” He asks, and he becomes even more horrified when he hears the strangled rasp of his voice. Foggy pauses in his explanation.

 

“Recent topics in modern criminal justice and involved media.” He says easily, and Matt relaxes, but only a little. Not his class. Mason’s got a dozen of them; she loves torturing as many students as possible. Foggy’s not in his class, but Foggy’s in Matt’s _school._

Matt didn’t know. He wasn’t even being careful walking around campus, because he’d never thought it would come up. How many law students go around soliciting escorts of shady legal standing? None.

 

Apparently one.

 

“How interesting.” Matt says faintly. Same _year._ Foggy had said he was in his last year. How the hell have they not run into each other by now? Thank _god_ they haven’t, because Foggy hadn’t asked for Matt, it had been random, and if they’d known each other at school and then Matt had shown up at the motel…

 

“Yeah, it is.” Foggy agrees cheerfully. “Most people don’t think so, but I knew you’d get it.”

 

“Oh? Why?” Matt asks, voice a little too high. _Does_ Foggy know? Has he seen Matt on campus, and Matt hadn’t recognized his heartbeat because he was too distracted, stupid, _stupid_? Is this some kind of shakedown, and Foggy’s going to blackmail Matt so that he doesn’t go to the dean?

 

“Because you listened to me that first night.” Foggy says simply. “You understood. You understand.” 

 

“Right.” Matt says, a little dully. He remembers, Foggy talking about wanting to help people, Matt telling him how noble it was. He quickly pastes a shy smile on his face. “But even if I understand the sentiment, that doesn’t mean I understand the argument. I’m not a lawyer.” _Not yet._

 

“I think half the people in my class don’t understand their arguments either.” Foggy tells him dryly. “It’s just a matter of sounding really, really smart. And you _are_ really, really smart, so that should be pretty easy for you.” He laughs. “I bet you’d wipe the floor with them.” Matt _is_ the best in his class.

 

It’s probably an awful idea, because there are so many ways Matt could slip up and reveal he knows a little too much about the legal scene. On the other hand, won’t it look suspicious if he refuses after Foggy’s just made it sound so simple? And it would be nice, to get some time to study. Matt’s been…busy all weekend. He’ll just be careful. Act eager but oblivious. Maybe a little smart, because Foggy wants smart. Matt can do smart. Smart, eager, oblivious. Easy.

 

He wants to know what Foggy’s debate topic is.

 

“Well, I’ll give it a try. What are we going to be debating about?” He says, just the right amount curious and warm. He doesn’t have to fake the curiosity, and the warmth is not as hard to muster up as he’d imagined.

 

“Uh, the validity of emerging vigilante justice following the recent increase in individuals of unknown origin operating under unsanctioned authority and aliases?” Foggy says quickly, and then laughs. “So, basically? Those dudes that keep running around in tights and beating people up.”

 

Ah.

 

“Good choice.” He croaks. Foggy doesn’t know, Foggy doesn’t know, Foggy doesn’t know.

 

“Yeah, it’s really cool. There’s someone else doing something similar, but she’s looking at the Avengers and the Chitauri incident.”

 

“And you’re doing?” Matt asks warily. Foggy makes a happy sound.

 

“I’m doing the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen!” He says, and he sounds absolutely thrilled at the thought. Of course he is, because Matt’s life is not fair and the world hates him.

 

“Right.”

 

“Pretty cool, right?” Foggy enthuses. “He’s a dark horse right now, because he’s not smashing up half of New York with a war hammer. I think he’s going to be a key player though, even if he’s not flying around in—I don’t know. Something ridiculous. Red leather.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Matt offers vaguely. “So you want to argue about whether what he’s doing is legal?”

 

Foggy laughs.

 

“Oh, _nothing_ he does is legal.” He says, sounding incredibly cheerful. “It’s not a matter of legality, it’s a matter of ethics. Justice.”

 

“Justice.” Matt repeats faintly. It’s a matter of _justice_. Exactly what he tells himself every night that he chooses to put on the mask. A rather terrifying thought strikes him. “And are you arguing for or against the Devil?”

 

He’s not sure which he’d prefer. On the one hand, it’s obviously easier for Matt to argue for why the Devil’s good for Hell’s Kitchen. He can do that, and sound smart, and Foggy will be impressed and maybe even convinced that Matt’s right. On the other hand, if Matt’s arguing for the Devil, that means Foggy’s going to be arguing against him. If Foggy’s chosen to argue against the Devil, he must have a reason. Foggy might _hate_ the Devil, think he’s a terrorist or something worse.

 

He might hate _Matt_ , and that shouldn’t matter but it _does._

“For, actually. Professor Mason was _pissed_ —she hates the guy.” Good to know, considering Matt’s got another semester with her. “I think she’s looking forward to someone cutting me down in court, but it’s not going to happen. I am an amazing debater, if I can actually make it to the podium. That’s the hard part. I always get nervous, forget what I want to say.” He laughs, a little anxious. “So that’s why I’m asking to bore you for the next hour with my babbling.”

 

“To practice?” Matt checks, and he hears Foggy’s hair brush the skin of his neck when he shakes his head. Sweet shampoo.

 

“No. Because I know that if you say it’ll be okay, it will be.” Foggy says simply. “You’re kind of my good luck charm, Matt.”

 

Matt can’t breathe for a second. Good luck charm. Foggy thinks Matt’s his good luck charm. Foggy called for Matt, specifically for Matt, because if Matt tells him it’s okay, it will be. Foggy trusts him. Trusts Matt to do his best to help.

 

Matt’s not going to do his best to help.

 

“Well, alright. Sounds fun. So I just have to make you hate the Devil, right? Shouldn’t be too hard.”

 

Not a chance in Hell.

 

Matt’s going to make Foggy _love_ the Devil.

 

* * *

 

Foggy wins the debate.

 

Matt hears about it at school. Everyone’s talking about Foggy Nelson and how he destroyed the competition. Apparently his argument has inspired his class to start a Devil Fan Club. Matt has _fangirls_ now.

 

Matt finds Foggy's heartbeat. It’s not hard—he remembers it more clearly than he thought he did. Now that he’s listening, he can find it everywhere he goes. In his classes, in his dorm room, in the shower. And they don’t have any classes together, and their dorms are across campus from each other, but Matt finds himself taking detours. Just because he has the time. It’s nice to stretch his legs. He’s bored.

 

Foggy hums when he’s walking across campus, happy little songs, and Matt was right. He does have friends. People stop him to say hi, and to tell him what a good job he did on his finals, and to ask him what he’s doing that weekend.

 

‘Busy’, Foggy tells them. ‘Hanging out with a friend’.

 

Foggy calls for Matt every weekend. Matt’s the friend. Matt shivers every time Foggy says it. ‘Friend’. Hanging out with a friend. Does Foggy really consider them friends? They talk every weekend, and they study together—Foggy has told Matt more than once that he’s the best debater Foggy’s ever met, he’s a natural, and Matt has to lie and say that it’s just beginner’s luck. Foggy doesn’t know Matt’s last name, so when Foggy hears that Matthew Murdock passed his exam with flying colors and wrecked the grade curve, his heart doesn’t even skip a beat. After all, Matt From The Motel is _not_ Matthew Murdock.

 

“You’re drooling, hon.”

 

“What?” Matt yelps, turning towards the stranger. She’s wearing perfume, floral and a little overwhelming. He should have smelled her coming, but he was distracted. “I’m not—what?”

 

“Believe me, I understand the urge. He’s a cutie, right?” The girl says, sounding incredibly amused. “I’m Marci, if you didn’t know—although you really should since we have three classes together. And you’re Matthew, right? I saw your debate—quite impressive. Of course, Foggy Bear’s was rather impressive too…very exciting.” There’s a note of appreciation in her voice. “So, you have a lawyer-crush? Love at first not-sight?”

 

“Foggy Bear?” Matt asks incredulously. For some reason this is the part that bothers him the most. Foggy’s not a _Foggy Bear._ He’s just Foggy. The woman—Marci—laughs.

 

“Mm-hmm. Cuddly as a teddy bear.” She explains easily. “I can just tell. Definitely a cuddler. Not usually my thing, but I’d make an exception.” Cuddler. Does Foggy look like a cuddler? Matt doesn’t know. What does a cuddler even look like? Do they sound like anything? Matt’s never thought to check for a cuddler—he’s not sure that it would show up on his senses.

 

“So you’re… interested?” He tests unsurely. He hears Marci nod, and she’s got a flowery shampoo that matches her perfume—both strong, probably expensive.

 

“Definitely. Such a sweetie. But I guess you know that.” Matt hesitates, and then nods. Foggy is sweet. He buys Matt granola bars and helps him with his coat. “I suppose we’re rivals then.” She muses thoughtfully.

 

“No, I don’t—I just think he’s a nice person.” Matt protests. “I’m not trying to _sleep_ with him.” Marci giggles.

 

“Never said you were, hon.” She points out. “Although I guess _you_ just did.” She hums. “I’ve seen him look at guys, so you might have a chance. You’re not bad-looking. If you just stay here hiding in the bushes and never talk to him though, I’m going to win.” Matt is _not_ hiding in the bushes. He is hiding behind a _tree._ Big difference.

 

“So you want to date him?” He asks hesitantly, and Marci laughs again. She does that a lot, and Matt has the distinct feeling that it’s at him.

 

“Maybe more of a friends-with-benefits thing, but I guess I wouldn’t mind. He seems like a gentleman.” He is, but Marci doesn’t know that. “He carries my books, you know? Opens doors, doesn’t stare at my boobs. Not that I’d mind if he did—he seems like the kind who could appreciate them.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Matt says skeptically. “He doesn’t seem like the type to just want sex though.” He can’t, or else he would have slept with Matt already. Matt’s given him all the signals. “He’d want a relationship. Dinner dates, romance. Talking. Lots of talking.” Marci snorts.

 

“Men want sex, Matthew. Fact of life. Foggy Bear’s a gentleman, but if someone offers, is he really going to say no?”

 

Apparently. 

 

“He’d want talking.” Matt repeats firmly. He gets the distinct impression that Marci’s rolling her eyes.

 

“Fine. You stick with talking, and I’ll stick with _sticking_ my tongue down his throat. We’ll see which one works better.” She scoffs at the thought, like it’s a foregone conclusion. It’s not. Foggy wants more than sex, Matt knows it. He shrugs like it doesn’t matter.

 

“If you’re so sure you’ll win him over, why are you warning me off?” He asks, genuinely curious. Marci sighs, and Matt hears her adjusting her bag—leather, probably as expensive as the perfume. She’s walking, and her footsteps are getting quieter. Towards Foggy. She’s going after Foggy.

 

“It’s a _friendly_ warning, Murdock. Spirit of fair play.” Marci explains, and she sounds a little pitying. “If you don’t make a move, you’ll lose. That’s how a game works.”

 

“Foggy’s not a game.” Matt tells her harshly. Marci laughs again, and it’s a dare.

 

“So make a move and prove it.”

 

* * *

 

Foggy’s not a game, but he likes to play them.

 

“So, I have chess and Scrabble.” Foggy tells him. “Your choice. Pick a game and let's play—although I should warn you, I am a beast at both. Totally hardcore, no mercy, you will remember this game for the rest of your life.”

 

...Is _that_ a euphemism?

 

No, Foggy’s shaking the box enticingly. Definitely game pieces. Damn it.

 

Scrabble. Foggy is paying an exorbitant fee to play _Scrabble._ It’s almost as bad as the talking—no, it’s worse, because Foggy had to _buy_ the Scrabble board. They don’t have them in stores, which means Foggy went online and searched and bought a _Braille Scrabble board._ Chess is safer. Everyone has a chessboard, and it’s obvious that Matt could play it by feeling out the pieces. He should probably tell Foggy to return the Scrabble, because that’s not what Matt’s _here_ for. He’s not here for talking, and he’s certainly not here for _Scrabble._

 

“Scrabble.” He sighs, and helps set up the board.

 

They play three games. Halfway through the second one, Matt hears the alarm on his phone go off. One hour, over and paid for. He can go. Foggy doesn’t even realize it, crowing in triumph and managing to get ‘lustful' on a triple word score. Matt should tell him. He’s only gotten paid for one hour. Staying any longer would be stupid.

 

Matt puts down the tiles for ‘lovesick’ and offers to order pizza.

 

It takes Matt three nights of Scrabble and a hundred synonyms for ‘love’ to admit that he’s lost the game.

 

* * *

 

Matt’s going to quit.

 

There’s only a few months left of school. Matt’s got money, he’s been saving up. He can pay the rest of his way without any more 'work-study'. And Foggy will want commitment, Matt can tell. He’ll want exclusive. Matt wants exclusive too.

 

And Foggy already loves to talk with Matt. They’ll keep talking, just every night instead of every week. Talk _and_ ‘talk’. Foggy wants a relationship, and Matt can give it to him. They already get along so well, the only thing that would change would be the sex. The almost-certainly incredible sex.

 

And getting paid. That’s not happening anymore. Every time after this is going to be free—no, Matt’s going to _pay_ for it. They’re going to get dinner, and lunch, and breakfast, anything Foggy wants. Matt will get him flowers, and chocolate, and maybe some socks because Foggy keeps complaining about losing his. That’s a good gift, right? Romantic yet practical.

 

Yeah, lots of socks and lots of sex. Perfect model for a successful relationship. Matt is going to be the best boyfriend ever.

 

Now he just needs to make sure Foggy knows that.

 

* * *

 

Foggy gets a freebie. For being such a good customer, Matt tells him. It’s a standard offer after a certain number of calls. All completely normal, don’t even worry about it. Just a company rule. Matt gives them all the time.

 

Matt’s never given a freebie in his life.

 

He’s going to be careful. Have a nice talk, get Foggy comfortable, and then when time’s running down, tell him the truth. Matt’s quitting, and he wants to take Foggy on a real date. A lot of real dates. He can do this. 

“Can I ask you something?” Foggy asks, and he sounds uncertain. Matt blinks at the nervousness. Foggy hasn’t sounded like this since the night they met.

 

“Sure.” He pats the bed next to him and smiles encouragingly when Foggy doesn’t say anything for close to a minute. Foggy sits obediently, but still says nothing. “Usually this is the part where you actually ask the question.” He teases gently, and he hears Foggy nod. Sweet shampoo, familiar now. Matt accidentally found the brand at the store and bought three bottles. He likes the smell is all. It’s rare to find one that doesn’t hurt his nose.

 

Foggy takes a deep breath. And then another one. Matt’s starting to get a little worried when Foggy blurts out:

 

“What is sex like for you?”

 

Oh.

 

Matt’s mouth is hanging open a little, and he hurries to close it. He’s not sure what to say, what to think. Foggy’s never brought up Matt’s job before. It’s easy to forget what he does, when he’s here with Foggy. Nice, to pretend that they’re just getting together because they like each other. It’s easy to forget that Foggy pays him until Matt gets the cash from his boss. But Foggy didn’t pay this time.

 

And what if that’s the point? What if Foggy thinks that because this one’s free, the standard rules don’t apply? What if he’s finally realized what Matt’s _here_ for, what he’s been paying for, every weekend for _months?_ What if he wants Matt to _show_ him what sex is like for Matt?

 

Matt can’t breathe, and he’s not sure if it’s from panic or eagerness. He’d say yes. The order’s wrong, he was planning on a date before this, but maybe this is a good thing—this way Foggy will know what he’s getting into.  Matt can make a good sales pitch. 

 

Foggy’s skittish, he sounds nervous. Matt’s got to let him know that it’s okay. He needs to let Foggy know what _is_ okay. He can do that—he’s done it before. Foggy might as well know what’s on offer, what Matt can give him.

 

The deluxe package.

 

“It’s different with different people. Mostly I’m the one on the bottom—it just tends to be the way people like it. I don’t mind.” He prefers to be on top, but most people don’t want that, and he doesn’t want to pressure Foggy into anything. And Foggy would be careful, Matt knows it. He’d take his time preparing Matt, and he’d let Matt try with his fingers too, while he was working, and it would feel amazing. Foggy would be tight and hot.

 

“Condoms are a must, even if they say they’re clean.” Matt would make an exception. The material is sticky and chafing on his skin, and usually he just deals with it but Foggy wouldn’t lie about being clean and Matt wants _skin_. Soft skin, warm skin, feeling it under his hand when he’s stroking, silky and smooth.

 

“I get some people who want restraints, but I keep it at hands, no ropes or anything like that.” Foggy wouldn’t want restraints. Restraints are for people who need to feel control over the other person, and Foggy wouldn’t be like that. He’d want Matt to touch him back, gentle touches all down his back and sides.

 

“There are a lot of people who want sensory play—it’s convenient, because I don’t even need a blindfold. I don’t do hearing though, because it can get a little overwhelming.” He always puts it in a flattering way, like he just can’t handle that much pleasure, but truthfully it makes him extremely uncomfortable. He can still hear what’s going on, but the other person doesn’t know that and he doesn’t like the thought. Foggy would never try to make him uncomfortable, and he'd want Matt to hear him. Hear him saying Matt's name.

 

“I’ll give blowjobs, but I won’t take them.” Too personal, too much power in the other person’s hands. But maybe, maybe it would be okay. Foggy would be good, he can tell. Smart mouth, clever tongue. He clears his throat.

 

“Do you have any specific questions?”

 

He thinks he’s covered everything, but maybe Foggy’s creative. He seems like he would be, willing to try new things, curious. Matt’s heard it all before, but maybe he _hasn’t._ Maybe Foggy wants something different, something new. It’s an exciting thought.

 

“Jesus, Matt.” Foggy says, and he sounds stunned and a little terrified. “Do people really—Jesus. No, I just meant to ask if it felt _good.”_

 

Matt blinks, thrown.

 

“It’s sex.” He points out, bemused. “That’s sort of the point. Why? Have you had some bad experiences?” He hopes not, but if it’s true, he can change Foggy’s mind. Matt’s good, he can make it _good. Foggy_ would make it _good._ Foggy exhales shakily.

 

“Actually? I haven't had  _any_ experiences.” He whispers, and he sounds a little ashamed.

 

Matt’s brain crashes.

 

“It’s not—it wasn’t on purpose, at first. I just didn’t date much. I don’t know. I figured I’d get to it when I found the right person. I wanted it to matter. I wanted to save it.” Foggy swallows hard. “And now it’s seven years later and I have no idea how to do _any_ of it. What if I find the right person, and it turns out that they’re some sort of supreme sex specialist and I’m just… not? And I mess it up?”

 

Matt’s brain reboots.

 

Virgin. Foggy’s a _virgin._ He’s never done it before—none of it. No top, no bottom. No condoms, no ropes. Has he even _had_ a blowjob? Has he ever given one?

 

And that makes it better. That makes it a million times better. Matt’s mind is racing with the possibilities. Nothing, Foggy’s a blank slate. Matt will be the only one to have ever touched him. He’ll be able to teach Foggy _everything_. And it will be the first time, the special one. The one that Foggy will remember for the rest of his life.

 

“You won’t mess it up.” Matt promises, reaching out to rub Foggy’s back. Soothing, a little too low but nothing explicit. Let Foggy make the first move. The first move for his _first time._

 

“But what if I _do,_ Matt?” Foggy asks, and he sounds miserable. Matt shushes him, hand moving just a little bit lower.

 

“Then you do it again.” He replies simply. “And again. And again. Until you get it right.” Matt’s got enhanced stamina and a clear schedule for the rest of the weekend. Again and again and again should be _perfect._

 

“And you think they’d be okay with that?” So very much yes.

 

“If they care about you? Absolutely.” Matt assures him. “It’ll be fine, Foggy. It’ll be good.” Hand just a little bit lower. Foggy seems scared, so maybe Matt will have to get things started, maybe lean in and press a kiss just to the corner of his mouth, linger, just a little deeper and wetter until Foggy’s relaxed and then let his hand finally move where he wants it to.

 

Start with the shirts, Matt thinks. Shirts are the easiest, less pressure, and Matt can stroke and soothe until Foggy’s ready, and then keep going. He didn’t even think to bring condoms, because he never _needs_ them with Foggy, but that’s okay. Matt won’t want them anyway. And he’ll talk Foggy through it, tender and low, and Foggy will love it, every moment, because Matt will  _make_ him love it.

 

“Okay.” Foggy says, taking a shaky breath. “Okay. So I’ll be casual, bring it up over dinner. Is the first date too soon? I mean, I’ve known them for a while, so it’s not…I don’t know. I just sort of… I really want it, you know? I’m scared, but I really want it.”

 

“You don’t even need a date.” Matt reassures him. Dates can come later. “It’s just about you and what you want.” He hears Foggy shake his head, feels his shoulders shift under Matt's hand just a little with the movement.

 

“No, it’s got to be perfect.” He argues, certain. “Not a candlelit dinner, that’s too cliché. Something special, just for them.” He pauses. “What would you want to do on a date, Matt?”

 

Matt’s totally fine with going to a motel, at least at the moment, but he’s guessing Foggy’s asking about after. It’s a sweet gesture. It’s been forever since Matt actually went on a date. He’d gotten a bit jaded with the whole thing until he met Foggy, but he’s ready to try it again. Oh god is he ready. A date. Foggy wants a date too. He's finally going to get to sleep with Foggy, and then they are going to go on a _date._ Lots of dates. _So_ many dates.

 

He can hardly keep the grin on his face from getting too silly.

 

“It might sound a bit odd.” He warns. Foggy makes an encouraging noise. “I’d want to take them to the gym.” Foggy gives a tiny, nervous sort of sound, almost a gasp.

 

“Why? Do you think they need to work out more?” He asks, voice a little high. “Hypothetically, I mean? You have really strict physical fitness standards?” Matt shakes his head immediately.

 

“No, no!” He assures Foggy, because from the muscles he feels under his hand Foggy’s actually not that bad off in the fitness department. “I like to box. It would be nice to share that with them. I’d like to be able to teach them.” Apparently Matt’s got a bit of a thing about teaching Foggy new things, if tonight is any indication.

 

“Oh.” Foggy says slowly. “Gym. Okay. That would work. Sweaty, a little hot. Yeah. Good plan. Dinner before or after? The gym will work up an appetite, but we’d be all sweaty and gross and that wouldn’t be fun. So dinner first, I think. Dinner, gym, snack, and then…sex. I can do that.”

 

“No.” Matt corrects him gently. “No, dinner later. Gym later. _This_ now.”

 

Foggy makes a surprised noise when Matt kisses him. Perfect, just at the corner of the mouth like he wanted, and Foggy’s tense for a moment before he starts kissing back. And yes, Foggy has _definitely_ done kissing before, or else he is a goddamn _prodigy._ Tongue and just the right amount of teeth and small but happy sounds every time Matt makes it a little deeper, a little wetter. Better than Matt could have imagined.

 

He pulls away, keeping one hand on Foggy's back and the other one tangled in his hair. Foggy’s a little short of breath, and Matt did that. Matt took his breath away. This is going to be _perfect._

“ _First time_.” He murmurs, awed and mostly to himself, but Foggy gives a startled little laugh.

 

“Yeah. How’d you know?” And Matt remembers. First time they met, almost the first thing Foggy had said to him. And Matt had taken the lead then, he’d calmed Foggy down and made it a good night. He can do that again.

 

“Lucky guess.” He whispers, and leans back in.

 

“I was seriously going to do a date first, you know.” Foggy informs him when Matt pulls away enough to get at his shirt. He’s careful because Foggy needs careful. Foggy needs delicate. Foggy needs worshipful. “I wanted it to be somewhere nice. I didn’t want a…a freebie. I wanted it to be somewhere you’d like, your choice.” He sounds a little guilty, so Matt presses a quick kiss to his mouth before returning to his work.

 

“I don’t give freebies, Foggy.” He admits easily. “This was a date, you just didn’t know it yet. And I like this motel—it’s got good memories attached to it. The sheets are actually fairly comfortable too.” Thank heavens for this motel's odd obsession with bed quality. The rest of the room is apparently at best, but they clearly put a lot of efforts into their beds. Clean, good-quality sheets, solid bed frames, decent mattresses. It must be a motel meant for sordid liaisons, which might be off-putting if Matt himself wasn't engaging in a sordid liaison right now himself. He's not a hypocrite by any means. Matt licks a gentle stripe up Foggy’s neck, sucking a little at the top. “Next time we’ll go somewhere nice. Your place or mine, okay? Both.”

 

“My place sucks.” Foggy admits, and Matt laughs.

 

“So does mine. It’ll be wonderful.”

 

“Okay.” Foggy agrees, kissing Matt’s temple. “Hey, I want to see you. Shirt off.”

 

Matt’s nods and pulls away. He means to make it slow and lithe but instead he ends up accidentally tearing a button off in his haste. Foggy gasps, and Matt grins. He knew that working out would be good for something other than punching criminals.

 

“Matt, oh my god.” Yes. Perfect. Foggy sounds breathless again, and Matt wants to keep it that way. “Scars. Why do you have so many _scars_?”

 

Oh, no.

 

“I’m clumsy.” Matt tells him, and it’s not a lie. That excuse was _very_ clumsy.

 

“Matt, no. That’s a knife scar.” Foggy runs a careful finger along Matt’s chest. It’s shaking. “And _that’s_ a knife scar, and _that’s_ a knife scar, and Jesus, Matt, what happened to you?” Foggy gasps, and it sounds like it hurts. “Oh god. Is someone _doing_ this to you? Is this someone’s sick _kink?”_

 

“No!” Matt assures him vehemently. “No, it’s not like that. I just…I get in some fights. Sometimes.” He swallows. “But I win. I always win.”

 

“Fights.” Foggy repeats dully. Matt nods. “It looks like you get in a _lot_ of fights.”

 

“…Yes.” Matt agrees hesitantly. Foggy takes a shaky breath.

 

“You _pick_ a lot of fights.” Foggy says, and it’s not an accusation. It’s like he already knows the answer.

 

“Yes.” Matt says anyway. Foggy swallows.

 

“Why?” And Matt almost lies, because he’s only just kissed Foggy. They haven’t even gone on a date yet. Matt hasn’t shown him how much Matt can offer him if they go on a date. This is too much, too fast. He’s not sure Foggy can take it.

 

Matt doesn’t want to lie anymore.

 

“Because it’s a matter of ethics.” He whispers, knowing Foggy will understand. “Justice.”

 

“Devil.” Foggy murmurs, and it’s still not an accusation. It’s soft, and Matt can’t quite read the emotion behind it. Matt nods. He wants to say something, but all the words are stuck in his throat. Foggy stays quiet for a very long time, and then Matt feels a finger tracing along the same knife scar. It’s not shaking this time. “The scars are old. No new ones.” He muses.

 

“I’ve gotten a lot of practice.” Matt confesses hoarsely. Foggy gives a hitching little laugh.

 

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.” He admits a little wetly. He hesitates, and then gives another little laugh. “I guess that explains why you threw our debate. I’d sort of hoped you let me win because you had a crush on me.”

 

“I did have a crush on you.” Matt promises him hastily. “I just...”

 

“You’re a little biased.” Foggy finishes gently. Matt nods miserably. “Oh, Matt.”

 

Matt can’t help a little sob when Foggy reaches out and wraps his arms around him. He hugs back so hard he worries it will hurt, he can’t make himself let go and Foggy doesn’t tell him to.

 

They stay there for a while, smooth skin against knife scars. Matt puts his ear over Foggy’s chest and listens to his heartbeat. Strong, slow, steady. Not scared, not angry. He _feels_ Foggy’s laugh rumbling through his chest, a little choked but real.

 

“God, Matt. Escort, law student _and_ vigilante—when do you _sleep?”_

 

Matt freezes.

 

“How did you know I was a law student?” He asks slowly. Foggy snorts.

 

“Seriously? You’ve won pretty much every academic award there is, and half the students are in love with you. You don’t exactly keep a low profile.” Matt blinks.

 

“But you never said anything.” He points out. He feels the roll of Foggy’s shoulders when he shrugs.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. It’s a separate life, you know? I didn’t think you’d want me trailing after you like a lost puppy on your way to class.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“I’d have liked it.” He admits softly. “I would have liked hearing your heartbeat next to me. It always seemed so far away.”

 

“…What?” Matt winces. Stupid. If the Devil part wasn’t too much, this certainly will be. He’d been planning on springing the enhanced senses bombshell sometime after their six-month anniversary. It’s a little late to turn back now though.

 

“Okay, so there was this accident…”

 

Foggy doesn’t ask any questions until Matt’s done. He’s worryingly quiet for a long time, and Matt’s getting ready to pull away when Foggy asks quietly,

 

“You’re listening to my heartbeat right now, aren’t you?” Matt hesitates, and then nods. Foggy makes a considering sound. “Is it weird that I find that really, really hot?”

 

Matt shakes his head immediately.

 

“Not weird at all.” He assures Foggy, then pauses. “Well, a little weird, but in a really, really good way.” Foggy laughs and jostles him gently.

 

“What’s my heart sound like when I’m kissing you?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious. Matt considers.

 

“Happy.” He says finally, and Foggy hugs him a little tighter.

 

“Yeah. Sounds about right.” He murmurs. “But if you wanted to check again…”

 

Matt blinks, pulling away.

 

“Really?” He asks, astonished. “You still want to?” Foggy kisses his forehead.

 

“Well, I already knew about the lawyer thing. Obviously I like the Devil, considering I convinced fifty skeptical law students that he was a god among men. And the heartbeat thing appears to be a kink. Hey, my first kink! How about that.”

 

Matt is Foggy’s first kink.

 

Matt’s going to be Foggy’s first everything else, too. Matt leans back in and gets started on the firsts.

 

Foggy is sort of amazingly good at blowjobs. It’s the first one Matt’s gotten in over a year, so maybe he’s biased, but he’s pretty sure that no one should be that good on their first try.

 

“Have you done this part before?” He wonders when he finally manages to string a thought together. Foggy hums thoughtfully—Jesus, vibration warm and sweet—and pulls off for a moment with a wet sound that echoes in Matt’s ears.

 

“No. Practice.”

 

“On _what?”_ Matt asks, incredulous. Foggy licks up the length languidly.

 

“Popsicles.” He says cheerfully. Matt makes a strangled sound. “Don’t worry, you taste better.” He goes back to his work, and Matt only lasts about five more seconds because—popsicles. Matt tastes better than popsicles.

 

Matt hasn’t had the chance to practice on popsicles, but he thinks he does a pretty good job anyway, if the sounds Foggy makes are any indication. No condom, which Matt is thanking the Lord for when he tastes Foggy salty and thick in his mouth.

 

“Well.” Foggy says, sounding a little stunned. “Check that one off my bucket list.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Matt agrees, licking his way back up into a kiss. Foggy sighs into it and wraps a hand around Matt’s neck. Matt stays there for a minute, just kissing lazily, before he feels himself hardening again.

 

“Huh. Pretty sure that’s not a normal refractory period.” Foggy mutters, sounding intrigued. “Google.” He explains when Matt pulls away to stare. “Is that the powers or just you?”

 

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Matt admits. “I can take care of it.” He’s planning for just a quick go, fast and efficient so he can get back to kissing Foggy and hearing his quick, staccato breaths for as long as he can, but Foggy beats him to it, reaching down and stroking with a gentle hand.

 

“Actually, this works out pretty well for me. I thought I’d have to wait a few hours for part two.” He laughs. “Instant gratification. I like it.”

 

“Part two?” Matt asks hoarsely, and Foggy strokes him again, slower.

 

“Part two.” He repeats firmly. “From what I’ve read—and there’s a lot to read, the Google Gods are kind—part two is the best part.” Matt twitches.

 

“And by part two, you mean…” He leads carefully. Foggy snorts.

 

“Matt, in a single game of Scrabble you played, and I kid you not, the words ‘lube’, ‘thrust’, and ‘orgasm’—in that order. And then you won with ‘afterglow’. I’m pretty sure you know what part two is.”

 

“Did I really?” Matt asks, horrified. “God, I’m sorry.” Foggy kisses him lightly.

 

“You also played ‘adore’, ‘devotion’ and ‘soulmate’ in the same game.” He offers kindly.

 

“Oh.” Matt flushes. “Okay. That’s…okay.”

 

“Very okay.” Foggy reassures him. “So. Part two?” He sounds hopeful and also a little demanding, and Matt just has to kiss him again for a minute.

 

“ _Yes._ ” He murmurs, and it’s only when he reaches out towards the nightstand that he realizes. “No lube.” Damn it. It’s back at the dorm with his condoms. After the surge in anticipation, he’s incredibly disappointed. It’s not like a handjob is torture, and Foggy’s blowjobs are a gift from God, but…. Part _two._

 

“Does lotion work?” Foggy asks curiously. Matt nods, distracted and still a little bereft. “Awesome. I have some in my bag.” When Matt remains motionless, he explains, “I like having smooth skin, and moisturizing is important.”

 

Well then.

 

“There is a God.” Matt murmurs, and practically throws himself off the bed. He doesn’t even have to pretend to hesitate, feel his way around, because Foggy knows _everything_ and he thinks it’s _hot._

 

Matt’s back in the bed and uncapping the bottle in a second, but he still kisses Foggy hello because he missed him in that second.

 

“Is this _cupcake-scented_?” He asks, disbelieving. Foggy pinches his side lightly.

 

“Are you seriously going to waste time criticizing my choice of lotion?” Foggy teases, and Matt shakes his head quickly.

 

“Cupcake is perfect. It's my favorite kind of lotion.” He promises, and starts getting his fingers wet. Foggy’s never done this before, so Matt decides Foggy can watch this time and try it later once he gets the idea. Matt’s reaching down between his own legs when Foggy takes his wrist.

 

“You want to be on top, don’t you?” He murmurs, and Matt tenses, shaking his head. He has enough experience to know that a lot of men don’t like being on the bottom, and Matt wants this to be _perfect_ for Foggy. They can experiment later, when Foggy’s more comfortable.

 

“No, I’m fine. I don’t mind.” He tries to move his hand, but Foggy won’t let him.

 

“Yeah, you said that before.” Foggy says slowly. “But you said it in the same voice you used when you called me a gentleman, the first night we met. You were smiling, but you didn’t mean it.” Matt freezes.

 

“I don’t mind.” He tries again, and Foggy squeezes his wrist gently.

 

“Okay, but what do you _want,_ Matt?” Matt swallows, hard.

 

“Top.” He admits in a whisper.

 

“Let’s do that, then.” Foggy says easily, finally letting go of Matt’s arm. “Sounds fun.” Matt hesitates.

 

“It’s harder, on the bottom.” He warns Foggy. “It can hurt a little at first, if you don’t do it right.”

 

“So do it right.” Foggy says bluntly. He strokes a hand down Matt’s arm. “It’ll be fine, Matt. We’ll take our time, do it slow. I know you’ll be careful.”

 

“Of course I will.” Matt tells him fiercely. “I just…I want it to be good for you.” Foggy laughs.

 

“Matt, I’m here with you. It’s already pretty great.” He takes Matt’s hand, pulls it a little lower, guiding him. “But I bet you can make it even better.” Matt doesn’t move, even when he feels his fingers brush against Foggy’s thighs. Foggy sighs. “Matt, when I was thinking about this? This is what I imagined, okay? This is what I _want._ And it’s what you want too, which is just another piece of evidence that we are pretty much made for each other. Which, just saying, I have a pretty good case.”

 

Matt smiles, so wide it hurts, and nods. Made for each other.

 

And he thinks it must be true, when he’s stretching Foggy out on his fingers. Foggy is as tight and hot as Matt had imagined, and he presses in on Matt’s fingers like he’s trying to keep them inside for as long as he can.

 

“Wow, okay.” Foggy gasps after the third finger, and Matt pauses.

 

“Too much?” He asks, worried. He was going a little faster than he’d planned, because it was so fascinating, the way Foggy felt around him. He’d wanted to see what would happen if he gave Foggy _more._ As much as he could take.

 

“Not enough.” Foggy tells him breathlessly. “Three’s good, it doesn’t hurt at all. I’m ready.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“We just started with three. We need to give it a little more time, maybe a few minutes.” Foggy laughs harshly, grinding down on Matt’s fingers.

 

“Yeah, no. Minutes are not going to work for me.” Matt stills his hips with his free hand, and Foggy groans. “Matt, seriously. I can take more. You know I can.”

 

“I _don’t_ know that.” Matt argues. “And neither do you. You’ve never done this before.” Foggy snorts.

 

“You always sound so smug when you say that.” He teases. “You really like being my first time, don’t you?” Matt nods immediately.

 

“More than you can imagine.” He admits shamelessly. “And I need it to be perfect.” Foggy sighs and runs a hand down his back.

 

“Matt. You will be inside of me. I will get to _come_ with you inside of me. I’ll be able to feel _you_ come inside of me. That’s pretty perfect.” He pushes against Matt’s hand on his hip. “It doesn’t hurt, and I want it. _Now_ , Matt.”

 

“Bossy.” Matt muses, but he obeys, pulling out his fingers slowly after flexing them a few more times. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Foggy promises carelessly. “It’s not going to hurt, but if it makes you feel better, sure.”

 

“Tell me.” Matt repeats firmly, and when Foggy makes a vague sound of agreement, he starts pressing inside carefully.

 

Matt thought Foggy around his fingers was perfect, but _this…_

Tightest Matt’s ever felt, and he knows why—because Foggy’s never done this before, Matt’s the first one inside, Matt’s the one who stretched him out sweet and slow and who’s slipping into the heat and he’s the only one, no one else. Not before, not after.

 

Foggy sighs when Matt’s all the way inside, shifting against him.

 

“How does it feel?” Matt asks, and he’s concerned but also curious. He can barely remember his first time—okay, a little clumsy, mediocre. Matt does _not_ want Foggy to remember their first time as okay, clumsy or mediocre.

 

“You’re fishing for compliments.” Foggy accuses, a little breathlessly. Matt nods, no hesitation. Foggy sighs again, exasperated. “Fine. It’s amazing, you egomaniac. I’m almost upset that I was missing out on this for so long, but honestly? I’m sort of glad I waited.”

 

“So you like it?” Matt checks, and Foggy laughs.

 

“Egomaniac.” He repeats fondly. “Yes, Matt, I like it. I love it. I think I will love it even more if you _move.”_ When Matt opens his mouth, Foggy cuts him off. “If you start moving, I’ll start talking. Everything that I like about it.” Matt hesitates, and Foggy continues, coaxing. “ _First time_ , Matt. Everything I like about it will be entirely new and all about you.”

 

Matt starts moving.

 

“Okay, that’s good. God, you’re big. I thought your fingers were enough, but this is so much more. I feel so _full,_ Matt.” Matt shudders. “And hot. God, so hot. It’s like a fever but it’s perfect, the best feeling in the world. You know?” Matt nods. “And every time you move, it just—“ He yelps. “What the hell was _that?_   Jesus Christ, do that again.”

 

“Prostrate.” Matt informs him absently, obediently pressing back inside. Foggy cries out. “Good. That will make it much better for you.”

 

“No.” Foggy tells him, and he sounds a little worried. “No, no better. I don’t know if I can take better, Matt.”

 

“You can take it.” Matt murmurs, leaning down to kiss him. “I know you can.” He thrusts a little harder, and Foggy sobs. “There we go. Perfect.”

 

 “Am I actually supposed to survive this?” Foggy asks, choked. Matt grins and kisses him again. “Not actually an answer, thanks. Okay, fine. Put it on my tombstone. ‘Here lies Foggy Nelson—laid to rest after getting laid’.”

 

“Good way to go.” Matt muses, and Foggy hums agreeably, moving to suck a mark into Matt’s neck. “Might as well aim for overkill.”

 

Foggy whimpers when Matt lets his hand trail down.

 

“I’m haunting you.” Foggy gasps. “I swear to god, when this kills me I am coming back and haunting you.”

 

“I look forward to it.” Matt tells him brightly, and twists his hand. Foggy moans his name and tightens around Matt in a way that makes Matt gasp. “Huh.” He repeats the motion and gets the same results. “I think we might end up haunting each other.” Matt tells him honestly.

 

“It’s a date.” Foggy groans. “ _Faster_.”

 

Matt doesn’t last as long as he’d like. Of course, ‘as long as he’d like’ would be pretty much forever, but he’d been hoping to get at least a few more minutes. Foggy’s adapting startlingly quick though, and soon he’s tightening in an even, steady rhythm, running fingers all up and down Matt’s body wherever he can reach, and whispering praises low and sweet in Matt’s ear.

 

Matt almost kisses Foggy to muffle his cry, but then he realizes that if he does that, he won’t be able to hear _Foggy._ And oh, it’s worth it, it’s so worth it when Foggy follows a moment after Matt does, and it’s with a scream of Matt’s name.

 

Foggy shivers and makes a small sound when Matt goes to slip out.

 

“No, it’ll feel empty if you go.” He mumbles. “Can’t you just stay inside?” Matt blinks. Good plan, _not_ something he’s encountered before. Foggy’s creative, he remembers thinking. Curious.

 

“For as long as you want.” He promises, and moves them carefully so that he can lie on his back and rest Foggy against his chest.

 

And god, it's perfect. He tries to be careful, he does, but Foggy keeps making whimpering little noises when Matt shifts soft inside of him and Matt finds himself being a little less careful than he originally planned, just to hear more. When he gets Foggy settled, he gives one guilty roll of his hips and bites his lip when Foggy shudders and whispers his name. Matt decides that Foggy's not quite settled yet, and they have to move again. And again. Just so that Foggy's comfortable. 

 

"You're not sneaky, you know." Foggy mutters, and shifts rather expertly so that Matt slides deeper. Matt gasps. "Better?" Matt nods mutely, and spends the next few minutes 'settling' Foggy with Foggy's help. Finally Matt's somewhat satisfied (at least for a minute or two), and he runs a gentle hand down Foggy's back and stills. 

 

“So…” Matt trails off, hesitates. Foggy snorts.

 

“Let me guess, you want to know how fantastic you are in bed.” He drawls. Matt makes a weak sound of disagreement. “No? Pity. I guess I don’t need to tell you that I’m pretty sure there’s no point in having sex with anyone else, ever, because they’ll never be as good as you are.” Matt clears his throat.

 

“Well, I mean. You don’t _need_ to tell me, but if you wanted to…” Foggy sighs and strokes a gentle hand down Matt’s arm.

 

“Matt. You remember when I said you were the most amazing angel to ever exist?” Matt nods, throat tight. “You just proved me right.”

 

“That good?” Matt asks, voice hoarse. He means to sound flippant but he’s pretty sure he just sounds completely adoring. Foggy smiles into his shoulder.

 

“Pretty damn good.” He agrees. “As far as first times go? Pretty damn perfect.”

 

And it’s probably an awful time, way too soon, going to come off clingy and desperate, but the words just come bubbling up anyway.

 

“I love you.” He’s a little scared of what Foggy will say, but Foggy has to at least _like_ him at this point. Matt’s the most amazing angel to ever exist.

 

“Yeah, ditto. For pretty much forever.” Foggy murmurs lazily. “The granola bars were the Sweetheart Valentine Deluxe Package. They all had some variation of ‘I love you’ on the wrappers.”

 

“ _What?”_

 

“Yeah. Sort of a futile gesture, considering the object of my wooing, but it made me feel better.” Foggy says it absently, like he didn’t just admit to trying to tell Matt he loved him on the second not-date. “It felt nice, getting you something that I knew you’d like, that you might need. Romantic yet practical.”

 

Matt can’t quite catch his breath. He yanks Foggy into a kiss and keeps him there until Foggy can’t quite catch his breath either. Matt pulls away, panting, and presses their foreheads together.

 

“I am going to give you so many _socks.”_ He whispers reverently. Foggy laughs and kisses him again.

 

“Is that a euphemism?”

 

“Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry if this makes anyone uncomfortable. I'd just read a couple stories with this trope, only usually the one person started out paying the other person for SEX. And that...I didn't like that, so much. So I wanted to write something different.
> 
> If it DIDN'T make you uncomfortable, then I'll just say thank you for reading!


End file.
